Utah vs The Winchesters
by NixDucky
Summary: In which Sam and Dean go hunting in Utah. PLEASE NOTE: Here be Wincest.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Happy Birthday Worm! Utah vs The Winchesters is the result of a few twitter conversations we had many, many years back. Good thing I saved them ;-)**

**Oh man, I'm having so much fun with the boys in Utah.**

**WARNING: Here be Wincest. **

**Also, the boys are not terribly respectful of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, so on the off-chance you're a member, you might want to step away now. **

**As this work is a gift for my usual beta, it has not been beta'd.**

**Timeline is season 6ish.**

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**Part 1 - The Iron Rod**

"Okay, but why do we have to go to _that _club? 'The Iron Rod,'" Dean rolled his eyes. "Could they be any more obvious?"

"Because that's where this…" Sam checked his notepad, "... Greg works. According to Bobby, he's the only one to talk to when it comes to Mormon urban legends, and he only sees hunters at the club. And dude, we have a shopping list of monsters to check off while we're in Utah. I don't know what's got them excited all of a sudden, but Utah is hopping, man. It's like monster-central out there."

"Monster Mormon central, you mean," Dean grumbled. "It's probably got something to do with that bitch Eve being back. Okay fine. But why do we have to wear _these _?" Dean whined, drawing out that last word as he held up small, black leather pants.

Sam had finished tugging a tight pair of denim jeans over his long legs (Dean could swear the fabric had glitter all over it) and was just pulling a black mesh-fabric tank top over his head. As it settled over his torso, Dean could see every inch of Sam's tanned skin under it. It left nothing to the imagination, and yet somehow made the skin even more alluring that it usually was. Which was saying something.

Dean felt a little drool escape his slightly gaping mouth. Wiping his chin, he conceded, "Well, okay I can see why you're wearing that." He walked over to Sam and slipped his forefingers into the belt loops of the very tight jeans, pulling his brother right into his groin. "Mormons shmormons, let's just stay in tonight, huh?" He licked a wet stripe up Sam's neck before biting his earlobe.

"Yeah, no," Sam chuckled, pushing Dean away and walking toward the bathroom. "Just get into your leather, Dean," Sam called from where he was leaning over the basin, applying eyeliner to his lower eyelids. "We've got work to do."

Dean pouted. But he had to admit that Sam looked all kinds of hot. Maybe this night wouldn't be so bad, skeevy club or not.

When they walked into The Iron Rod, practically every head turned to gawp. Sam's height alone probably would've turned heads, but he looked sinful in the tight jeans and see-through tank top. The eyeliner seemed to highlight colors Dean normally only saw in Sam's eyes when they were nose-to-nose in bed together. Sam looked gorgeous and Dean could see that most everyone wanted to grab Sam by his hair and do wicked, wicked things to him. He also knew that he was for sure going to get to do that later.

Dean didn't think he looked half bad himself. The leather pants had been a bitch to pull on. Sam had ended up helping him, and what with pulling Dean off his feet every time he tugged on the waistband and the unsexy huffing they were both doing from the effort, they'd ended up giggling together and collapsing on the bed, where Dean had eventually managed to get the pants up and everything tucked away.

He was wearing a shimmery, silver t-shirt, that was a couple of sizes too small, and outlined every contour of his upper body. And as a little quid pro quo, he was wearing lip gloss. If Sam was going to make his eyes look like… like _that _, well. Dean knew Sam had a thing for his mouth, and he may as well have some fun tonight.

Trying to ignore the stares, they walked up to the bar. Sam ordered something—Dean didn't hear what—and then they both turned around to get a good look at the place. The Iron Rod was a bit of a dive, to be honest. It was small and dark and stuffy. There was an area for dancing off to one side, and a few tables spread over the opposite end of the open space. Most of the tables were empty though. People were standing near the bar, chatting—chatting up, more like—and clearly giving each other the once over. Who was going home with who? Or hell, who was going out into the alley with who? It was clear that this club was all about sex, a place for people with less vanilla tastes to find someone to lose themselves in for a few hours.

"Welp. We're here. How do we find Greg?" Dean asked, taking a sip from the glass Sam had handed to him. And almost spitting it out. "What the hell is this?!" Dean held up the glass to see, with horror, that it was filled with a bright green liquid.

"Sshhh," Sam hushed him. "It's called a 'Hammered Hulk.' It's a cocktail. We're trying to blend in, remember?"

Dean looked around and saw that most people had some brightly colored drink in their hands. There wasn't a beer can in sight. He sighed and pouted again.

"Sa-aaam," he whined.

"Shush," Sam hissed again, taking a swig of his own Hammered Hulk and licking his lips. Dean was distracted. That was very distracting.

Sam however, wasn't taking any notice of him. He leaned over the bar, gesturing to the barman, who made his way over. "Hey, can you tell us where Greg is?"

The barman looked Sam up and down—people had been doing that a lot, and it was starting to annoy Dean—and then said gruffly, "Greg's not here yet. He gets in later. Generally after the thumping starts."

_Thumping… _? Dean thought warily. But Sam just shrugged and took another sip of his drink.

It turned out that "thumping" was accurate. They'd been there a little over half-an-hour when they felt a vibration in the floor. A steady thud which ran from their feet through their bodies and into their brains. They actually felt the bassline a split second before they heard it. It was irresistible. Dean wasn't even sure there was a tune accompanying the heavy bass, but it clearly didn't matter. Within minutes everyone was on the dance floor, including Sam and Dean. They couldn't really remember walking over to the open space or making the decision to dance, but they found themselves moving to the thumping, only inches away from each other, rubbing against any piece of the other's body that they could. It didn't take long for Dean to get hard, and when Sam rubbed his ass into Dean's groin, he brought his hands around to Sam's front and was happy to discover that Sam was in the same situation. They didn't stop dancing though, and there were a fair few eyes watching them. Dean thought that if he looked half as hot as Sam did on that dancefloor, they were giving the locals quite a show.

The thumping was almost addictive and moving with Sam like that in a crowd of people was so seductive that Dean didn't want to stop, but eventually it was clear that both him and Sam needed to catch their breath. And get some water. Breathing hard, still holding on to each other, they kind of bump-and-grinded their way back to the bar and got a couple of bottles of water. Dean had emptied his in only a few seconds.

"My my," came a voice behind them. "That was certainly… something. You boys ever think of performing? Plenty of my customers would pay to see something like that on the regular."

They turned around—Dean wasn't blushing. He _wasn't _—to see a tall man, mid-thirties, with sandy blonde hair, light blue eyes, and a sardonic smirk on his face. He was dressed in tan slacks and a light blue golf-shirt. He looked more like an accountant type than a gay club owner type. He leaned towards then conspiratorially. "Normally I insist on seeing hunters here because I think those rednecks need some exposure to different, ahem, lifestyles. But it's obvious that's not necessary with you two." He winked. "Come into my parlor and let's talk monsters."

Sam hadn't been kidding when he said they had a shopping list of things to check out. There were numerous hauntings, a place called Skinwalker Ranch where sightings of everything from shapeshifters to aliens had been reported, there was a lake monster to be debunked, there was a trio of Mormon angels performing "miracles," and oh, there was Bigfoot. So yeah, Sam and Dean needed as much information as they could get about the monsters and legends of Utah, and Greg had the goods.

As they sat down in Greg's office—a neat but uninteresting room filled with filing cabinets—he asked, "so where do you want to start?"

Greg gave them a list of the most active hauntings as of the last few months. He poo-pooed Skinwalker Ranch and the lake monster ("Bear Lake isn't even that deep"), but seemed less eager to dismiss Bigfoot.

"But… BIGFOOT." The scepticism dripped off of Dean's tongue, but Greg just shrugged. "Hey, all I'm saying is, if I was a hunter, I'd check it out."

Greg was more certain of where things stood when it came to the miracle-making Mormon angels. "Those sons of bitches. They're using the legend and the people's religious beliefs to get what they want."

"So, not angels then?" Sam asked.

"Are you nuts?" Greg asked, giving Sam a disbelieving look. "You're telling me you believe in angels."

Dean snorted and Sam shrugged.

"No, they're not angels. From what I've managed to put together, it's a group of crossroads demons who teamed up years ago. They go around telling people they're the 'Three Nephites,'" Greg made very dramatic air quotes with his fingers to show just what he thought of that legend, "and that they 'perform miracles' (more air quotes), but of course _then _they slip in that the miracle is going to cost a little somethin' somethin'. Poor bastards out there are selling their souls, thinking they're receiving some sort of divine blessing when really it's the complete opposite."

"Demons we know," Dean said confidently. "We can start with them."

"One thing though," Greg added. "These guys have been doing their thing among Mormons since Daddy Joseph picked up his first followers. For all I know, they were the ones who gave Smith his first vision. They've become sort of… grafted on to the belief system of Mormons. And that sort of dependence goes both ways."

Dean was confused, but Sam said, "So you mean, the Mormon belief system now exerts an influence on the demons?"

Greg pointed at Sam and winked again. "Got it in one. You might need to update your demon fighting arsenal."

"Like, how?" Dean asked.

"Well, first off normal salt will be a nuisance to them, but won't really harm or deter them. You're going to need to get Salt Lake salt," Greg told them.

"And… where would we get that?" Sam asked.

"Not from a grocery store. Salt from Salt Lake isn't used as table salt. But you should be able to find Salt Lake road salt at almost any hardware store. Not the best time of year for it, but there should be a few bags available."

Sam was writing everything down, while Dean was getting bored. He kind of wanted to go back to dancing with Sam. And where had Sam pulled his notepad out from, anyway?

"And then there's the holy water." Greg said, a little smugly. "The normal stuff ain't going to cut it."

"Come on, man. Holy water's holy water." Dean was having a hard time believing Greg.

"Not for Mormon demons, apparently," Greg said shrugging. "Seems like you have to use water from a Mormon baptismal font."

"Wait, what?" Dean blurted at the same time as Sam said, "but non-Mormons aren't allowed in the temple. Nevermind near the font."

"It is a problem," Greg agreed. "But on the upside, tomorrow is Pie and Beer Day. People will be distracted, off work. There's parades and fireworks and shit. If I was going to break into a Mormon temple, I'd probably do it on Pie and Beer Day."

Dean's expression had become rather glazed at the first mention of the words 'Pie and Beer Day.'

A little dreamily, he said "Come again?"


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Happy Birthday Worm!**

**You asked for this as well. It's pretty offensive, I guess. I hope the Mormons don't find and slaughter ****_me!_**  
**_  
_****WARNING: Here be Wincest. And the boys are desecrating a temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, so on the off-chance you're a member, you really want to step away now. **

**As this work is a gift for my usual beta, it has not been beta'd.**

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**Part 2 - Pie and Beer Day**

"Pie and Beer Day, Sam!"

"It's Pioneer Day, Dean. The Pie and Beer thing is just counter-culture, it's not really _real_."

"It's real to those counter-culture folks. Come on, Sam. This holiday was, like, tailor-made for me. I don't wanna work, I wanna Pie and Beer. ALL DAY." Dean was pouting again. He'd been doing that a lot the last few days, and Sam was finding it equal parts annoying and distracting.

"You heard what Greg said," Sam reminded his brother patiently. "People are going to be out celebrating. It's a good time to get some of that Mormon holy water."

"I think Greg is full of shit."

Sam actually agreed with Dean. "But let's not take the chance. Just in case. Anyway, it'll be kind of cool to get to see the inside of a temple."

"You mean we're doing this as some sort of… some sort of Sam-research thing? Just to satisfy your curiosity."

"Well. Yeah… but also to cover all our bases. It won't do any harm to add Mormon bapitsmal font water and Salt Lake salt to our toolkit this time. And it would do harm if Greg was being straight with us and we didn't get the stuff."

"But Pie and Beeeeer, Saaaam."

Sam huffed. "Dude, how old are you? You've been whining and pouting practically non-stop this week."

"Not true. I wasn't doing either when we got home last night and I had your—"

"Anyway," Sam interrupted abruptly. "We can't be at the temple all day. It would be best to break in late at night. Maybe while the fireworks are going off. We need to find a temple close to a fireworks show…" Sam took his laptop out of its bag, getting ready to set up for some research at the little table in their motel room.

Dean brightened up. "So we can have _some _Pie and Beer Day?"

"We can have some Pie and Beer Day," Sam smiled fondly. "Just don't overdo it. You won't be any good to me overfed and drunk."

Dean picked up his keys and wallet, walked over to Sam, bent down and gave him a loud kiss, before continuing out the room. "You're so good to me, Sam. I'll bring everything we need back here so you don't miss out."

"You do that," Sam said, but he was already focussed on the laptop screen.

"Dude. How many temples are there in Salt Lake?" Dean was sitting on the bed, scraping up the last of the Pecan Pie with a spoon, while Sam was explaining how he'd chosen the perfect temple for them to break into.

"A lot. You don't even want to know. Like, you know how if you have more than one cat, you're supposed to have one litter box per cat plus one extra?" Dean looked at him blankly. Sam shook his head, "Anyway it looks a little like that. Just… there are a lot of temples."

Dean brought Sam the last slice of Coconut Cream pie, and sat down at the table. "So which one are we hitting?

"Well, there's going to be a fireworks display at this recreation park, a block or so away from the Jordan River Temple, so I reckon that's a good one to try. The show starts at 9pm, and we should have about thirty minutes or so, where everyone within sight of the display will more than likely be looking at it." Sam sat back in his chair and had a forkful of pie. "It's only a twenty minute or so drive from here."

"So we leave at about eight, gives us plenty of time to scope out the place. Perfect. In the meantime we still have some…" Dean was rummaging among the empty boxes of pie, "Key Lime, Sugar Cream and Mississippi Mud." Dean looked at the pie debris surrounding him. "Dude. Who ate all the Cherry Pie?"

Sam snorted. "That would be you."

"Oh." Dean looked crestfallen.

They were both a little awestruck when they pulled up to the Jordan River Temple. The night was dark, but the temple was illuminated with floodlights and the building shone like a beacon. It was an impressive structure. It looked like a large, square, two-tiered wedding cake, and rising from the center was a single, tall spire. Everything about the building was majestic and imposing. And beautiful, in a very geometric sort of way.

Dean gave a long, low whistle. "You don't ask much, Sam."

Because Sam had special computer powers, he'd found out (Dean had no idea how and had stopped asking those sorts of questions a long time ago) that there was a security system, and also that he would have no problem hacking it. There were apparently always people in the temple—some combination of elders, bishops, counsellors and a lot of volunteers, not to mention the worshippers—but the staff contingent would be low on Pioneer Day and there shouldn't be any services going on. That's what they were hoping for, anyway.

The fireworks started at nine on the dot. To be honest, Sam and Dean hadn't had much opportunity to see fireworks displays in their lives. Sure, they'd seen plenty of things blow up, but that wasn't really the same. The various colors and patterns, and the way the different fireworks were used together to create a spectacle, wasn't something they'd ever seen before, certainly not on this scale. It was five minutes into the show before they could drag themselves away from the sight.

They sneaked past the striking fountain at the entrance to the temple—also lit up, making the water sparkle like diamonds—and carefully worked their way around to the back, to the service entrance Sam had identified as their way in. They walked through what looked like some sort of storeroom, and came to a small staircase leading into a dark hallway. At the end of that was a door. And stepping through that door felt like Dorothy waking up in Oz.

From the dark dinginess of the storeroom they stepped into a room that was all brightness and light. And white. There was a lot of white.

Sam said that the room was one of the endowment rooms. Dean just nodded, not knowing—or really caring—what an 'endowment room' was. He figured it was probably where the secret handshakes were taught, fatted calves sacrificed, that sort of thing. There was even what looked like some sort of altar in the front of the room, with rows of light-grey upholstered chairs leading away from it, like a small, fancy auditorium. But he couldn't get over how clean and… well, sterile everything looked. Dean felt the need to take off his boots because he was sure he was leaving mud on the pristine carpet.

As quietly as they could, they made their way through the room and peaked out of the exit door. This door led into another hallway, as bright and immaculate as the endowment room had been. Sam took point, making sure that no-one was around, and Dean followed him in a kind of a daze. He didn't think he'd ever seen this much _clean _in his life. It made him feel a little uncomfortable to tell the truth. The more he saw of the interior of this temple, the more he hoped that he _was _leaving mud on the carpet. He wished he had some gum that he could chew and stick to the walls or under the small tables scattered along the hallway. _This place needs some sullying_, he thought to himself.

And a small grin began to spread over his face as the edges of a plan started to come into focus.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Sam suddenly pulled him into some kind of closet and held his finger to his lips. The door was open just a crack, and Dean watched as a very old man, in a very old, but well-kept suit, shuffled past the door concealing them and onwards down the hallway. The man looked half-asleep and Dean wondered what he was doing here. He was dressed too smartly to be a janitor. Dean didn't know that much about the management organization of the church, but this guy didn't look like he belonged in that particular club. Maybe a volunteer? Maybe he was just coming to give his daily confession… wait, Mormons didn't do confession, did they? The old man had turned a corner and Sam was already moving so Dean gave up his pondering and followed his brother.

They walked a little way further down the hallway, turning left and then right and then continuing straight for a few minutes before Sam whispered, "Okay, here we go." He pointed to a small sign with gold lettering next to an imposing wooden door, that read 'Baptistry,' and quietly opened it and looked inside, before pulling Dean in after him.

"Holy hell!" Dean tried to keep his voice down, but the room was something else. They'd stepped out onto a small platform, overlooking a large round pool of water which was designed to look as though it was being carried on the backs of a circle of at least ten… well, Dean assumed they were bulls. The whole structure looked to be carved out of white stone. And on the opposite end of the room was some sort of viewing area behind glass, filled with white benches… for the spectators? It creeped Dean out a little.

Sam gave him an annoyed look, before making his way towards the pool of water, and kneeling down to fill a couple of bottles.

"Dude, what is with all the white?" Dean whispered.

"Probably has something to do with purity, same as in any religion," Sam whispered back.

"Sure, but… there's just so much of it." Dean knelt down beside Sam to help. Four bottles should be enough.

"I dunno, man. Mormons are weird," Dean said softly as they stuffed the filled bottles into the duffel bag they'd brought with them.

"Why'd you say that," Sam asked, standing up. Dean gave him a pointed look and spread his arms out to indicate _everything _around them. "Okay, why'd you say that specifically," Sam corrected.

"It's just, these rooms. They're so clean and fresh and bright and _clean_. It ain't natural. And like, did you know that Mormons believe that Michael came to Earth as Adam? Michael, dick angel, the 'father' of us all." Dean shuddered. "And they believe that Noah was Gabriel. _Gabriel _dude! The porn-angel. These Mormons don't know shit about angels." Dean was walking toward the doorway, but stopped when he realised that Sam wasn't beside him.

He turned around to see his brother staring at him in astonishment.

"What? I read," Dean said smugly, turning back around.

They stepped back into the hallway and Sam shut the door carefully behind them, and then made to turn toward the direction they had come from.

"Wait," Dean whispered, pulling on Sam's arm to stop him.

"What?" Sam turned back around, looking a little alarmed. He thought maybe Dean had seen someone. Or worse, that someone had seen them.

"Where do you suppose the Celestial Room is?" Dean asked, as casually as he could.

"How did you... " Dean gave Sam a look. "... right, you read. I don't know. Why? Dean, we have to get out of here."

"I have an idea." He had an awful idea. Dean had a wonderful, awful idea. Well, he thought so anyway. Sam wouldn't be keen to go along with it, but Dean could distract him into it. Dean could make sure Sam had no choice but to go along.

Sam shoved Dean up against the wall the moment they tumbled out of the service door, and kissed him hard, pushing his tongue into Dean's mouth and tasting himself there. He groaned.

"I swear you're going to get us both killed one day," he was still breathing heavily. They both were, and Dean was trying to get his laughter under control and failing rather badly.

"Dude, did you see his face? I hope we didn't give the old guy a heart attack or something. He couldn't even find words, did you see? He just stood there stammering, pointing at you the whole time you were trying to get your jeans back up. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my life." Dean tried to catch his breath.

Sam shook his head. "I've never seen anyone go so red in the face. I think that happened when he saw your spunk all over that couch. I hope he doesn't have to clean that up. I feel a little bad about that. Kind of glad I, er, came… elsewhere."

"Mmm," Dean licked his lips and wiggled his eyebrows, and Sam rolled his eyes at his ridiculous brother.

And then they heard the alarm go off.

"Old guy must have gone for the panic button," Dean chortled. "Oh man, this was the best night."

They ran for the car, which was parked a ways down the street, under a broken street lamp. Once they were in, the duffel thrown onto the backseat, Dean tucked himself away properly, still giggling, and started the engine. He pulled away from the curb quickly, but not fast enough to draw attention.

"So, are you happy with our 'sullying' of the Celestial Room, Jerk?" Sam asked with fond exasperation.

"You betcha, Bitch. Place needed some sullying." He grabbed Sam's hand and kissed his knuckles, before saying, "and there's no one I'd rather desecrate important religious places with than you."

Sam rolled his eyes again. Dean really was going to be the death of him.


	3. Chapter 3 - Trees and Boulders

**AN: Happy Birthday Worm!**

**Another plot provided by you, and you provided some of the dialogue for this one too ;-)**

**As this work is a gift for my usual beta, it has not been beta'd.**

* * *

**Part 3 - Trees and Boulders**

The so-called Three Nephites weren't that tough. Sam supposed that they'd gotten lazy and out of shape, preying on the relatively easy pickings that were Mormon believers. It was so easy for them to acquire souls with the 'Nephite' ruse, that they hadn't needed to strain any of their demonic muscles for over a hundred years. Whether or not the Mormon holy water and salt made a difference—they _did _seem a little surprised when the holy water sizzled off their meat suits, but Sam and Dean would never be completely sure if Greg had been straight with them—it was a relatively easy task to trap them. They had talked about exorcising the demons and sending them back to Hell, but in the end they'd decided that these guys had been running their racket for so long, it was probably a habit that they would find was hard to break. And they _were _demons after all. With no hope of saving the poor bastards who had been possessed since the 1800s, the brothers had used Ruby's knife to ensure that no more Mormons would be fooled into selling their souls.

And that was the Three Nephites crossed off their Utah to-do list. Next up: various and sundry hauntings.

There were so many reports of hauntings coming out of Utah over the last few months, that it would've been impossible to follow up each and every one. So they went through the list and decided which reports were dangerous and prioritised those.

The old 'vanishing hitchhiker' guy, carrying a "Kolob or bust" sign and warning people that they needed to make sure they had enough food stores, was probably not that dangerous. Unless the driver ran off the road when the ghost vanished from the back seat, but Dean thought they couldn't be held responsible for reckless driving.

The legendary network of secret tunnels under Ogden City probably didn't exist and they hadn't heard anything that sounded halfway legitimate about ghosts down there. Or even mutant alligators.

The beggar, ignored by university students who then go on to fail their exams as a result, wasn't killing anyone and anyway Sam felt rather strongly that if the students had, in fact, adequately prepared for their exam, no ghost could've made them fail. Which made Dean roll his eyes.

However there was a Widow in White in Frisco that they needed to check out. Widows in White were not known for their benevolence. And there were at least two confirmed skinwalkers in Grafton who needed to be put down. The body count in that area was unreasonably high. (And Dean was so stoked about seeing where Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid was filmed he was practically vibrating with excitement.)

But after going through the list, they decided that their first stop would be Osiris, Utah.

After stopping for a pastrami burger for Dean (he'd discovered pastrami burgers on the day they'd arrived in Salt Lake City, and had declared them his one true love. After Sam of course.) and a bowl of green, crunchy something for Sam, they'd settled down for the three hour or more drive to Osiris.

"Tell me again about this town. It's a weird name for a Mormon town." Dean was talking with a very full mouth, but Sam was used to it and had no trouble understanding him.

"Right, that's one of the things that made me suspicious to start off with," Sam answered. "A family settled there and built a creamery in the early 1900s. They were _very _insistent on naming the town 'Osiris' which, like you said, is very un-Mormon. Makes me wonder if he didn't have some plans for the town."

"Who? Like Osiris, the Egyptian god Osiris?" Dean sounded sceptical.

"Could be," Sam shrugged. "We know gods are out there. No reason why he shouldn't be one of them."

Dean glanced over at his brother with a knowing smirk. "Admit it. You're going a little fanboy at the possibility that we might run into an Egyptian god."

Sam's cheeks flushed a little but he didn't answer. Instead he continued, "Anyway, not long after the creamery was built, people began to report sightings of black forms with glowing eyes roaming through the canyon, or running alongside wagons travelling in the area. Then people began to hear wailing in the creamery. Some witnesses even said they saw occult altars set up in the creamery. It didn't take long for people to clear out of the area."

Dean leaned over and put a Fleetwood Mac tape in the tape deck, pressed play and turned the volume down so that he could still hear Sam. The Chain came on, and Dean tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in time to the music, while asking, "So if no-one's there, why are we going?"

Sam turned to Dean and gave him a look.

Dean looked a little sheepish. "Okay, I wasn't really listening the first time around. C'mon Sam." He gave Sam his five-year-old-boy grin. He knew Sam couldn't stay mad at him in the face of that.

Sam sighed. "Because stupid tourists insist on going to see 'one of the most haunted places in Utah,' and very often they're never seen again. Those who do make it out are barely coherent, and can only mumble about blocked roads and black figures."

"God, people are stupid. I mean, every horror movie, ever! And they still look for this sort of thing."

"Yep," Sam agreed. "And we're the lucky guys who have to save the morons of the world."

They were silent for a few miles after that, Dean nodding his head and tapping his fingers to the music, and Sam reading on his tablet. Eventually Dean's right arm made its way to the back of the seat and his hand to Sam's neck, like it was the most natural place for it to be, his fingers playing with the slightly damp curls at the base of Sam's neck. Eventually Dean's hand always ended up there. Sam was sure Dean wasn't even aware of it most times. And he'd never admit how much he liked it.

Sam smiled a small smile to himself, before he read something that brought him back to reality. "Hey, listen to this. Did you know that it was technically legal to kill a Mormon in the state of Missouri until 1976?"

"What?" Dean hadn't been listening—again—so he was sure he had heard wrong.

"Yep. Executive Order 44 was issued in 1838 and said, and I quote, that the Mormons 'must be exterminated or driven from the state.' And that order was only revoked in 1976. Can you believe that?"

"So maybe the Mormons are allowed to have a chip on their shoulders. Geez."

"Right," Sam said. "I mean, from what I've read, they didn't make it easy for people who didn't belong to their church to get along with them, but still. Sometimes the laws of this country are scary."

"Humans, man." Dean never stopped being disgusted at the human race.

Sam read on for a little while in silence, before Dean heard him snort. "What now?" he asked.

"Oh this is just too perfect. Some Mormon apostle named Kimball prophesied that Salt Lake City will be 'classed among the wicked cities of the world.' I kind of hope we're around long enough to see that," Sam chuckled.

"Ha! Dude, I bet Greg will have something to do with that." Dean was grinning at the thought. "Wicked ol' Salt Lake City. Heh."

Osiris, Utah, was just off of Johns Valley Road and just before the turnoff to the abandoned town, they stopped at a rundown truck stop to fill up on gas and maybe get a little information.

When the old guy behind the counter of the small store heard they were planning on going to Osiris, he looked genuinely concerned.

"You want a nickel's worth of free advice?" he asked them.

"Sure," Dean shrugged, nonchalantly.

The man gave them a piercing look. "Get out of there by dark."

The way he said those words was decidedly ominous, but Sam and Dean were experienced hunters, so they didn't pay too much attention to his warning. Nevertheless, they thanked him politely, before walking back to the car and driving away.

Sunset was just a couple of hours away.

When they reached what was left of Osiris, the light from the late afternoon sun had turned the wood of the old mill into a rich, almost flaming red, creating a stark contrast between that and the adjoining cement towers. As they got out of the car and looked around, it seemed that the mill was the only building still standing, aside from a barn that was really just a few upright planks balancing precariously against each other, and a pile of stones that might once have been a house.

Sam had done the research and the last members of the Holt family, who had founded Osiris, were buried in a handful of graves on the site. The graves had been fenced in but that wasn't a problem. While they couldn't be absolutely sure as to what was haunting the town, they figured that salting and burning the remains of the Holt family would be a good start. The countryside was peaceful as they set to work. With the sun setting the temperature was cool, and within a few hours they had all the graves dug up, and the remains burning. The moment they'd set the bones alight, a desolate wailing was heard from the large ruins which slowly died away as the flames caught, until all that was left was a sighing sound. Which might just have been the wind.

Once they had filled the graves up again—no need to be disrespectful, they had the time—they walked back up to the mill and looked around. They did a thorough reconnaissance of the site, but everything was quiet. No dark figures, no glowing eyes, no strange sounds. They stayed for a few hours, just to be sure. They sat in the car, with the doors open, staying alert to their surroundings while playing I Spy to pass the time. If Dean played the porn version of the game, well there was no one around to judge him except for his brother, who would never do that. Not out loud anyway.

Eventually though, the boredom got to Dean. "Can't we call it a night, Sam? Nothing is going on here. Maybe the salt-and-burn did the trick."

Sam wasn't convinced, but he wasn't sure them spending the night there was doing any good either. Clearly nothing was going to happen. So, a little reluctantly, he agreed that they might as well go.

But as they shut the car doors, something changed. The windows were all open, so they could clearly hear the moment when all the night sounds were suddenly silent. The silence pressed in on them like a physical thing.

"Huh," they said together.

Not sure what else to do, Dean hesitantly turned the ignition, and put the car into drive. He turned the headlights on.

"Hey, Sam?" Dean asked quietly.

"Yeah…" Sam replied, looking straight ahead at the way they'd driven into Osiris.

"Didn't there used to be a road there?" Dean was also looking straight ahead.

"Yeah…" Sam said.

Because instead of the gravel road they'd driven in on, there were now fallen trees and boulders.

"Okaaaay," Dean said and turned the car. He drove in a large circle, looking for any way through which they could drive out. But wherever they looked there were fallen trees and boulders.

They were not driving out of Osiris.

"We could… walk…?" Sam tried, but Dean just gave him a dirty look.

"Not sure that would work anyway," Sam conceded, nodding his head towards where the toe path between the ruined buildings had been. More fallen trees and boulders.

"Those were definitely not there earlier."

Dean was already out of the car, and opening the trunk to get his shotgun out. Sam followed him. "Neither were those," Dean said, pointing the sawed-off barrel of the gun in the direction of at least four black shapes that were moving towards them. They could easily make out the glowing eyes of the advancing figures.

'Well, shit," Sam said. He grabbed his own shotgun, and a duffel filled with salt, lighter fuel and various other things that might be useful.

"Any ideas?" Dean asked, filling his pockets with rock-salt shells.

Sam shook his head, keeping his eyes on the creatures who were clearly coming for them.

"Right," Dean nodded his head decisively. "I do." And he grabbed the duffel from Sam, and ran towards the mill, shouting over his shoulder, "Come on, Sam!"

"What are you doing?" Sam yelled, following him.

Dean had kicked his way through some rotted wood planks to get inside the mill and was throwing as much salt as he could over the floor of the building. "We're going to burn it all down!"

"What, the whole building?" Sam sounded unsure.

"The whole building. And then that barn, and then whatever will burn in the pile of rocks and anything else that looks remotely man made. We're going to burn it all."

Sam had no better plan, so while Dean was pouring lighter fluid over the wooden floor, Sam grabbed his own supplies and ran to the broken down barn. Whatever the creatures were, they were very obviously not happy with what Sam and Dean were doing because they split up, some following Sam and some going after Dean.

"Dean!" Sam bellowed.

"Sam! Just get it done and meet me at the car!" Dean shouted back.

Sam ran, ducking and diving the shadows with glowing eyes that appeared in his path. Just as he veered away from one, there was a fallen tree in his path. He cleared that easily, only to be confronted with a "fucking boulder," he mumbled, as he swerved and finally got to the barn. He made short work of setting it on fire. It was something of a supernatural obstacle course to make it back to the mill, but he could see that it was already ablaze and Dean was busy trying to set whatever would burn in the ruined stone house alight. He was surrounded by the shadows, and the absence of sound which seemed to emanate from those shadows was almost as loud as if they'd been shrieking. Sam ran over to help his brother and, barely pulling out of the clutches of one of the creatures, he tripped over another magically appearing boulder and fell to his knees. But Dean was there to help him up, and they ran to the car.

They jumped in and Dean was pulling away before Sam had even shut his door properly. Dean skidded to halt when he saw that there was no way through in front of them and did a reverse turn that had Sam's head spinning. Dean drove away in another direction. Were there less fallen trees than before…?

"Yes, Dean that way!" Sam shouted pointing in a direction that was not the way they'd come into Osiris, but that was clear enough that the Impala could make it through. As they drove away, Osiris blazing behind them, the numbing silence that had surrounded them before began to fade.

Sam turned to look through the rear window. "Holy shit," he panted. "Do you think we got them all? You think it will be over now?"

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror. "Well, there sure won't be anything left of Osiris in the morning. Even if the monsters aren't gone, who's going to want to come and see a ghost town that no longer exists?" After a beat, he added, "Um, I think you better call the Forest Service, Sam. Or there ain't going to be any forest really soon."

Sam looked back again, and hurriedly reached for his phone.

"Fucking fallen trees and boulders," he grumbled, before he heard a voice say "U.S. National Parks Emergency Services, what is your emergency?"


	4. Brigham Yeti

**AN: Happy Birthday Worm!**

**Another result of a twitter conversation. Some of the text has been lifted straight off of twitter ;-)**

**As this work is a gift for my usual beta, it has not been beta'd.**

* * *

**Part 4 - Brigham Yeti**

Turns out that they did not, in fact, burn all the vegetation east of the East Fork Sevier River to a crisp. Somehow the rangers got there in time to stop the fire destroying much more than roughly a half mile radius around Osiris. Sam and Dean were keeping a look out for any more supernatural reports from the ghost town, but so far there hadn't been so much as a peep of anything weird. Well, other than the fact that the ruins had mysteriously burned down.

They'd handled the Woman in White relatively easily. Just your run-of-the-mill salt and burn, with a tragically sad backstory. Cheating husband, dead children, suicide. They were pretty sure that this Woman in White hadn't killed her children. It seemed as if their deaths had been entirely accidental, but she still hadn't been able to live with the guilt. They'd felt truly sorry for her, and in the end, the ghost had stood by while they burned her bones. She'd looked thankful as she went up in flames.

The skinwalkers in Grafton hadn't been as easy but only because those slippery bastards had been difficult to track. The boys had ended up spending two nights camped out in Grafton just trying to find them. Which hadn't been a problem at all for Dean. His phone was now full of selfies of him and Sam in front of places Dean insisted had been used in Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid, and he'd even figured out how to use the timer on his phone's camera so that Sam and him could strike some poses. Sam had nearly lost his patience but it was hard to stay mad at Dean when the guy was walking around with a grin on his face most people only saw on six year olds on Christmas morning. But they'd gotten the job done. Obviously.

All that was left on their Utah to-do list was the Sasquatch.

Which Dean could not believe they were taking seriously.

"I mean, there have been numerous reports, Dean," Sam tried to reason with him. "There are those sightings of 'bigfoot-like creatures' around Skinwalker Ranch—"

"I thought we'd decided that Skinwalker Ranch was a hoax," Dean interrupted.

"Sure, but these stories always start somewhere. The 'where there's smoke there's fire' sort of thing."

"But this is Bigfoot we're talking about here, Sam! The last time we came across a Bigfoot he was a giant teddy bear with suicidal ideation!"

He kind of had Sam there.

"Okay, but get this. There's a Mormon legend that Cain—as in Cain and Abel, that Cain—is wandering the earth. He wears no clothes and is covered in hair and an early Mormon apostle by the name of David W. Patten actually came across him. This creature _told _Patten that he was Cain. It's in that other apostle, Kimball, it's in one of his books."

Dean was still sceptical. "I dunno, man. It sounds kind of weak to me."

"I'm not saying it's for sure, I'm saying we should check it out."

Dean grudgingly agreed, which is how they found themselves driving north out of Salt Lake City towards the Wasatch Mountains. Because apparently, the majority of Bigfoot sightings in the area had been reported from the mountain range bordering the state of Utah in the north.

But once they were away from the buildings and crowds of the city and driving through the countryside, even Dean had to admit that things could be worse. The scenery was gorgeous and he thoroughly enjoyed the drive. He seriously considered finding a cabin in the area and just staying there with Sam for a couple of weeks. They deserved a vacation. Dean wondered how many days he could keep Sam naked before Sam started to complain about wanting to go hiking…

Pleasant thoughts like this made the time pass quickly, and soon enough they had parked the Impala at a small mountain lodge and were trudging through groves of what Sam told him were Blue Spruce and Aspen trees, and fields of the most glorious wildflowers Dean had ever seen. The carpets of color were breathtaking and Dean snapped photos with his phone whenever he thought Sam wasn't watching. How would he ever be able to explain taking so many pictures of _flowers_, for fuck's sake.

The (very) few locals who'd been willing to give them information about the Wasatch Sasquatch had pointed them in the direction of a particular trail, leading up to a particular peak. Word was that the Bigfoot roamed a specific area and if they spent enough time out there they were sure to run in to him. It wasn't a very detailed plan, but there were no other leads, so that's what they went with.

As far as Sam could find out, there wasn't anything particularly magical about Sasquatch, so killing them shouldn't be a problem. What Sam _did _have a problem with was the fact that there were no actual reports of violence linked with the Sasquatch. People who believed it existed were adamant that the beast must be killed but no-one could tell Sam what it had ever done to hurt anyone and thus deserve that fate.

Dean had asked Sam why they were even bothering if that was the case. Sam's answer had been something vague about "making sure" and "the potential danger" and blah blah blah. Dean was pretty sure that Sam just wanted to be able to write out an entry on 'Bigfoot' in John's journal. And he'd had to admit, being able to prove—even if only to themselves—one of the world's biggest myths as true, would sure be something.

Much to Dean's delight they discovered a very rustic hiking cabin in which to spend the foreseeable future while they searched for Bigfoot. It wasn't quite what he'd had in mind, but he'd take it. While Dean was _not _a fan of cold showers—there was no water heater at the cabin, hell there was no electricity—showering with Sam definitely made up for that, and helped him maintain a certain amount of… heat. Besides, the weather was relatively warm during the day, and the fire at night added to the general mood Dean was trying to create. Sam kept up the argument that they were "working a case" but Dean still managed to keep him naked for a whole two and a half days before Sam started to feel guilty about neglecting the job.

And in the end, they didn't need to go looking for Bigfoot at all. He found them.

It had been early on the morning of the third day when they'd been woken up by someone knocking on the door. Which surprised them, because they hadn't seen or heard anyone in the area since they'd arrived. The knocking wasn't frantic, which might have indicated some sort of emergency. In fact, it sounded rather polite, as knocking went.

Sam went to open the door, and Dean heard a deep baritone voice say, "Pardon me, I was wondering whether I might trouble you for a cup of brown sugar?"

Dean heard Sam start to choke and rushed over to smack him on the back.

There were clans. Bigfoot clans. All over the United States.

Dean had struggled to wrap his brain around the fact that they were talking to _a _Sasquatch, but then the creature had insisted that they join him and his family for breakfast. Unfortunately they hadn't had any brown sugar for the beast, but they had brought what coffee and milk they had with them. The Sasquatch had thanked them for the milk and politely declined the coffee. Sitting down to a rough hewn table in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by many large, hairy, _naked _(aside from the aprons—"don't you dare ask," Sam had hissed at him) females, and even more small, hairy children, was something Dean just wasn't sure he would ever get over. He kept asking Sam to pinch him, because there was no way this was really happening, but after Sam got annoyed and pinched a bruise into his arm that would last for at least a week, he stopped.

It was Sam who had noticed that the Bigfoot that had come to their cabin, who had introduced himself as Brigham (and wasn't that just a kick in the pants), was the only male in the clearing. Being Sam, he naturally asked about it.

"Well, naturally," hairy Brigham had replied. "We're polygamists."

Dean was hitting Sam on the back again as Brigham continued, "It's a very old and sacred custom among our people. Have you ever heard of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?"

Although he was still patting Sam on the back, while Sam struggled to catch his breath, Dean managed to say, with an absolutely straight face, that yes, they had in fact heard of that particular church.

Brigham was gratified to discover the church was going strong. "We keep to ourselves, so we don't hear much from the outside world you see," he explained.

Dean nodded his head seriously.

The large creature went on to explain how one of his forefathers had run into an apostle from the church and been converted a long time ago, and since then they had followed the teachings of Brigham Young and the Book of Mormon to the letter. "All the males in my family since then have been named after the males of the Young family. It's a great honor. And it's a great honor to be granted a plural wife."

"Sure," Sam gasped, still taking deep breaths. "Uh… and you say, there are many clans? All over the country? Are they all, um… Followers?"

Brigham sniffed. "Well they _claim _to be. But you know, I really think we are lacking in _true _believers. Some Sasquatch have moved away from the teachings." He leaned in towards Sam and whispered furtively, "I don't like to talk about it among the womenfolk, but the colony in the Yakima Valley, for example, are snobs and drunkards. All they ever speak about is wine. _Wine_! It's scandalous. Go to a clan gathering there, and you'll always get stuck in a debate about Pinot noirs versus Syrrahs—I understand they have excellent palates, but of course I know nothing about that sort of thing. They continually try to convince you which vintage goes best with a kill, be it human or animal." Sam looked alarmed, and Brigham quickly hastened to add, "Although, there hasn't been a human killing reported for years. We do try to discourage that sort of thing." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I have been made to understand that a good red blend, like a claret, is best to serve with quail and squirrel…"

It was at that point that Sam had started to giggle rather hysterically, and Dean had thought it best to say their goodbyes, and get Sam somewhere far away from either the Wasatch Mountains or the Yakima Valley as quickly as possible. Florida sounded good. The Sunshine State had its fair share of weird monsters and hauntings to distract Sam. And if that didn't do the trick, there were things he could do with his tongue that were sure to make Sam forget about this entire non-hunt. Dean thought he'd probably do those things anyway.

They never did ask Brigham if his ancestor had indeed been the real Cain. And Dean was okay with that.


End file.
